


The Thought of You and Me and this Baby

by almostalwaysahermit



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Gen, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:16:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8141809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostalwaysahermit/pseuds/almostalwaysahermit
Summary: The title says it all.





	

Her palm rests idly on her abdomen, slightly bent to accommodate the curve that spans from her bellybutton to the underside of the growing mound that now houses her unborn child.

Five months have passed since she found out about her pregnancy - the same five months that she spent sitting outside on her porch every morning, lost in thought and unsure of what to do with herself.

She lets out a sigh and gently rubs the spot just above her bellybutton, from where she swears she feels tiny tremors surfacing whenever she starts to feel upset like this. She doesn't know if it's normal, if it's just the baby kicking as if to warn her that her being a downer was affecting it too. She thought of asking her mother the first time this happened. That is, until she realized that her mother was long gone and that, aside from a doctor, no one else could give her an acceptable answer.

She lets out another sigh and then feels another kick in response. She shifts on the rocking chair she's been sitting on since after she ate her breakfast, hoping to appease the being inside of her by changing her position, but all it does is garner someone else’s attention.

"Ali, are you okay?"

Alison faces forward in response to her name and smiles. She watches as Emily walks toward her from the garden patch with a visible frown and a thin sheet of sweat forming on her tanned cheeks.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just feeling some cramps coming on." A tiny, tiny white lie. Far less harmful than the ones she had told over the years. And this time she had a better reason to keep things to herself. She didn't want Emily to worry over this. _The kicking is a good thing. At least I know you're still alive in there._

"Do you want me to take you inside? It's getting too warm out here," Emily says as she starts to take off the working glove from her left hand. She purposely ignores Alison's attempt to reassure her.

"Em, I'm fine. Really. Besides, it's musty inside. I like being out here more," Alison replies with another smile.

This time, Emily appears to have noticed and responds with one of her own. "Just tell me if you need anything then. I'll just finish this quick. Azaleas don’t like too much sun, right?”

“The afternoon sun, I think.” Alison replies, only half-certain. She recalls her mother saying something similar and Spencer too. _Right. Spencer. She would know. She always does._

“You okay over there?”

“Hm?” Alison catches herself in another thought that spirals into a previous one and crashes into one that’s just about to take shape. As if on cue, there’s another kick. “Geez…” she mutters to herself, her thoughts now lost to her and her body flinching on its own in reaction.

“Ali, _seriously_ …” Emily’s work gloves are off and she places her bare right hand on Alison’s shoulder. She looks for signs of pain or discomfort but is only met by soft, baby blue eyes and the tiny creases on either side of Alison’s mouth. Yet another smile.

“Thank you,” Alison says as she leans her head toward Emily’s hand. She takes in the faint smell of moist soil that must have been trapped between the glove’s interior and the spaces in between Emily’s fingers. It smells familiar and at the same time it throws her.

It takes her to a reality where she no longer has to sit on the porch and worry about her life choices because she already made some more and Emily made some with her, and they’re about to make a lot more because they want to raise children together.

It takes her to a reality where Emily wants their daughter to have her second name, “Lauren” while she insists that their son be named “Wayne” after Emily’s father. They argue a bit about combining names and making them sound unique until they resort to having to google what any of them might mean in whatever context they can find – whether it turns out to be a curse word in Viking speech or slang for Greek food. After the laughter clears, they settle on “Lauren” and “Wayne” and go to bed, happily married with a baby on the way.

It takes her to a reality showing Lauren, their four-year-old first-born, reading her favorite nap-time story to Wayne, the 3-month-old. She watches them from the couch while Emily prepares an afternoon snack. Once everything is ready, Lauren hops onto Emily’s lap and reaches for a bite-sized chicken sandwich from the plate on the table while Wayne nuzzles against his mother's bosom before reaching out for a teat to suckle on. Emily looks away with a hint of red across her face and Alison laughs slightly, careful not to startle their baby son while he’s feeding. “Oh come on, Em. You’ve seen my breasts before,” she says, obviously teasing. Emily rolls her eyes, still blushing. “I looked away because I’m a bit jealous and it’s such a wrong feeling to have about my own son. _Goodness_ , what am I even saying?” Then, before either of them could comment or laugh or do anything, Lauren says the silliest if not the most accurate thing: “Mommy, I think mom is saying she wants to taste your milk.”

All this from a faint smell, the slight weight of Emily’s hand on her shoulder and her cheek coming into contact with it. A thought spiraling into the previous one before crashing into everything else that Emily makes her feel at this moment. Wanted. Special. Loved.

“I’m here for you, Ali. I promised, remember?"

Alison does, of course. She remembers every promise Emily has ever made to her. Broken or otherwise. “I know. Thank you, Em. Thank you for being here—”

_BEEP_

Emily fishes her phone out of her back pocket, gives the screen a good two-second look then places the phone back. “It’s Sabrina. I have to go in a bit so I better finish working on the azaleas. You sure you’re not hurting anywhere?”

 _Yes, I am,_ Alison wants to say. _Right where my once-thundering heartbeat is slowing down to a crawl and into virtual non-existence. All because your phone beeped._ “I’m fine. Maybe it really is getting too warm out here. Is it okay if I go in first? You can help yourself to a snack inside before you go. I’ll be in my room.” Her tone is perfect to a tee. A product of years of lying about not having to lie.

“Sure. Get some rest. I’ll lock up on my way out.” Emily’s work gloves are back on and she walks back to the azaleas.

Alison takes a breath. The scent of moist soil is gone. The reality of her and Emily, and Lauren and Wayne, is gone. Another kick. She places both hands above the spot this time as she stands up and heads back inside.


End file.
